IGN: hotwiring
List your discord name and tag (name#0000): dorian#9625
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?: Yup!
Your time zone and current country of residence: USA, CST
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?: Absolutely, and I fully accept this fact.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team: I think the biggest issue with my potential seat on Lore Team would have to deal with the general voice I have when writing. It’s something I’ve worked on vigorously for years and I’ve gotten to a point in my development where I believe I can skillfully switch my voice to match the proper tone of the writing, but I’m nowhere near perfect and still could use some work; something I’m sure I’ll be able to be plenty of practice with if I were to be allotted a seat on the team.
What makes you passionate about writing?: I’ve been roleplaying since the age of 5, over a full decade now. My writing and the way I view my writing has progressed leagues since I first began, a fact that I can fondly say I am proud of. My interest in my OCs and the characters of my friends and peers is astronomical, I’m always looking to write with whoever is up for it. There’s hardly ever a time where writing isn’t on my mind, which, while both a blessing and a curse, makes a place like SchoolRP so perfect for me and my interests. The stories that people are always looking to tell endlessly captivate me, another reason why Karakura’s such a lovely (yet horrific) town to explore. Everyone’s got something to share, and I’m all ears.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?: Yup! As I’ve previously stated, roleplaying has been my main hobby for the past decade. Minecraft roleplay is what I started with and still remains as my favorite medium to work with, the visuals combined with the general fast paced style of writing is what I thrive in. My experience with writing lore also goes far back, ranging from documents upon documents of OC lore to explanations and topics for entire individual roleplays. I’ve dabbled in pretty much anything and I’m willing to shoot my shot at whatever’s thrown at me! I’m flexible and willing to adapt ideas from others into my own, something I’ve shown time and time again with my lengthy involvement of lore writing teams. I’m not just an individual when it comes to my writing, I think of it more as a collaborative creative afford than anything else.
In your own words, give your definition of lore: Lore’s the obvious spine to any piece of writing, whether that be a roleplay or an example of personal work. It holds the soul of a story, setting up conflicts and character arcs without needing to outright instruct people on what to do— it’s the context to every tale, and without it, writing falls flat. It’s a powerful worldbuilding tool and not one that should be negated, for doing so will leave you with a story as weak as a soggy potato chip.
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
#1
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Word count: 579
"Do you believe in karma, Kenta? ‘Cuz I do." The young boy started off with nothing but a small squeak. The anger and venom that dripped from his words didn’t match his thin voice, just another indicative clue that Ambroise didn’t belong in a town like Karakura. He was this short and lean little thing with a wicked look hidden behind his overgrown bangs, seething with repulsing rage that was nothing short of horrific. His head hung in feigned shame, the back of his neck rubbed raw for all to see. The reasoning for this meeting, at the brink of a worn-down pier on a gloomy summer night was unspoken between the boy and the man. The way the kid rubbed at his throat and darted his gaze like an injured fawn was telling enough. They both knew why they were here, it was an overdue serving of spiteful vengeance. He opened his mouth to speak once more, his hand rattling against the fabric of his shorts.
"I believe... That, in the end.. Everything evens out. It just needs a keen eye to show it the truth."
Up until now, Ambroise's looks to Kenta had been few and far between. Cool grey eyes began to bore into the green of Kenta’s irises, the hue blending into the wretched eye bags that had displaced themselves on the young boy’s face. Despite all the ramping up, all the injustice and disservices this cruel town had thrust into Ambroise's overflowing hands, he had found one place to anchor. To stand, heave, and drop all the baggage he had unconsensually been forced to carry.
Ambroise liked to think it could've been anyone who might have sent him flying over the edge, doing what he was to do next, but he knew. He knew that in some sick, twisted fashion, it was always meant to be Kenta Dai who would suffer most from his inevitable break. Ambroise and Kenta, forever entwined for some appalling reason that neither of them could comprehend.
Ambroise was fast with what he did next, but he was not generous. His trembling hand ducked into his endless pockets, untucking a stout metal key— a gift from a friend of the past. The movement that followed was rigid and messy, not a clean stab or a sharp slice. Ambroise wanted it to hurt, he wanted the pain to sear through Kenta's entire body before his brain had even begun to comprehend what had happened.
The unassuming key Ambroise had plunged into Kenta's eye socket made sure to twist, and it made sure to turn. It made sure to leave its mark, as Kenta had done to Ambroise on this same damn pier all that time ago.
The removal of Kenta Dai's eye did not grant Ambroise’s desired satisfaction, but only the opposite. The tons that had been resting on his shoulders only seemed to stack higher, crushing the boy underneath their weight and sending boulders rolling directly towards him. Ambroise had instantly realized what he had just done, or maybe he had just known all along that this was the furthest thing from right. Maybe Ambroise was always aware of the downfall that was bound to follow his long awaited enacted revenge, and maybe he was just waiting for life to serve him another sucker punch he’d be able to fester and decay with— the boy had been expecting the signature on his premature eulogy to be handwritten in sage crayon.
#2
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Words: 1098.. Heh
Sluuurp. Cheap slushies worth a flat hundred yen rolled down the throats of greasy teens like the heavy bowling balls they tossed down the lanes. Friday nights in Karakura meant one thing— the alley was packed. And, no, not with the usual crime you’d expect from such a nefarious town… Tonight, the passageway in question was the neon lit bowling lane that housed a wide array of the town’s given youngsters.
Amongst our crowd of social rejects and jocks alike, a boy with a grin too confident for his demeanor— stained white shirt included— sat in a padded booth, awaiting his turn on the pine lanes with an impatient tap in his foot. He had a reputation in the town for being a total drag to play with. The boy had skills, that was for sure, but the way he carried himself in relation to those skills? It made it seem as if the young man thought of himself as the Sayuri Yoshinaga of bowling. Needless to say, he was miserable to play a round with, the rest of his peers curving him like he had a big plastered sign on his forehead screaming, ‘AVOID AT ALL COSTS!’.
Well, it looks like not everyone got the memo to steer clear. Tonight his opponent was a foreign exchange student, one of the dozens to make the move from France to Karakura for some ungodly reason. She hardly spoke a lick of Japanese, though that didn’t matter to our insufferable kegler. He hadn’t the want for any type of conversation, just absolute bowling annihilation. His milquetoast challenger finished her turn with a measly two pins still standing, drifting back to her seat. The sight made him scoff as he flexed his knuckles and stood, stalking forward to await his soon to arrive bowling ball, fully intending on giving it its usual good luck kiss.
The young man tapped his foot with a sigh as he waited, ignoring his mother’s words as he rested his hand on the top of the machine. He swore he could hear her scolding even when she wasn’t there, ‘Keep your gosh darn hand away from that machine,’ she had warned while wafting a lit cigarette, ‘Ain’t any way I’ll be takin’ you to the hospital when you lose it, you best be sure of that!’
Enough of that. His mother’s rambles were largely unimportant, not when there was an opponent who needed to be demolished. Any day now, he thought, drumming his fingers… God! This thing was taking forever! It’s like he’d age fifty years just waiting for his ball to return. He rolled his eyes with unbearable annoyance, trying to drown out the idiotic screeches of the crowds around him. They’d just throw him off his game, if he wasn’t focused.
Seconds grew to minutes, and eventually he found himself gawking at the appliance as if it had personally offended him! He brought his hand back and thawked it on the head of the machine, stiffening like a board when he got a response.. But not the one he wanted. Instead of the monogrammed ball rolling back to its owner, a young voice peeped out of the machine, as if it were housed within.
“Yeeee—oouuuch! What was thaaat for?”
What the—?! Was this thing talking to him? He sputtered out a shocked gasp, looking around to see if anyone else had heard that… Huh, just him?
“Huge jeeerkwad! You could’a really hurt me there, you knooow…” The young girl, seemingly trapped in the machine, drew out her words with a grating squeak. Before our bowler had a chance to regain his words, she continued.
“Slip me a fry,” a plea, “c’mooon, slip me a fry and— and I’ll give you your ball back! I prooomise!” What a grating voice, screeching along like nails on a chalkboard. But, at the same time, the impatient man almost felt compelled by her. The concern that should’ve occupied his mind at the prospect of a girl being trapped in the bowling ball machine was nowhere to be found. Instead, all he could focus on was her proposal. Was that… really all she wanted? Just one fry, in return for his ball? It was laughable, he had two orders of those sitting on the table and another on the way.. He could surely spare one, if it meant he didn’t want to wait another miserable second waiting for his prized possession. So, in compliance, he turned and stumbled back to table, scratching at the scruff sitting on his jawline as he plucked a fry from the tray and tried to ignore the strange look his foreign opponent gave him.
He brought his hand back over with minute caution, awkwardly hovering the fry over the gate of the machine as he waited for the girl to pluck it from his sweaty hand. Dirty hazel eyes tracked the room around him, afraid that one of his less dorkier peers, or perhaps his opponent, would call him out for such a silly action. But, luckily enough for him, the gods of social rejection seemed to be smiling upon him tonight.
“Are you gonna take it, or what?” His words hissed out under his breath, begging not to draw any attention to himself whilst still getting this over with.
In response, he was met with nothing but silence from the shrill voice. The only whine that came from the vicinity leaked from the machine’s actual parts, the clicking of poorly oiled mechanics drowned out by the nearby celebration of a spare. He waved the fry in front of the gaping whole, holding it as bait— blissfully unaware of the appliance’s failing ball stopper. Instead of the slow drooling roll the urethane should’ve had while retracting into their former home, the balls slammed back into the void as if they had become the object of a tornado’s cruel fascination. They completely tore through whatever obstacle might’ve been in their way, unforgivingly claiming whatever hindrance unfortunately found itself in the crossfire. The damage looked like it could’ve been done with a sawed-off shotgun, not a bowling ball.
A piercing giggling seeped through the man’s mind as he started screeching like an injured hyena, holding up and waving his fistless arm for all those around him to see. A parting word was given in the form of a snicker and a whisper as a crowd began to form around the star bowler, who was soon to lose that title just as he had lost his lucky right hand.
“Heh! Thanks for the food, mister! So generous!..”
List your discord name and tag (name#0000): dorian#9625
Additionally, do you have a microphone and can speak via discord?: Yup!
Your time zone and current country of residence: USA, CST
Link any previous community team applications if applicable:
Do you recognize you could be removed from the community team?: Absolutely, and I fully accept this fact.
List a few things that may obstruct your progress/development on the Lore Team: I think the biggest issue with my potential seat on Lore Team would have to deal with the general voice I have when writing. It’s something I’ve worked on vigorously for years and I’ve gotten to a point in my development where I believe I can skillfully switch my voice to match the proper tone of the writing, but I’m nowhere near perfect and still could use some work; something I’m sure I’ll be able to be plenty of practice with if I were to be allotted a seat on the team.
What makes you passionate about writing?: I’ve been roleplaying since the age of 5, over a full decade now. My writing and the way I view my writing has progressed leagues since I first began, a fact that I can fondly say I am proud of. My interest in my OCs and the characters of my friends and peers is astronomical, I’m always looking to write with whoever is up for it. There’s hardly ever a time where writing isn’t on my mind, which, while both a blessing and a curse, makes a place like SchoolRP so perfect for me and my interests. The stories that people are always looking to tell endlessly captivate me, another reason why Karakura’s such a lovely (yet horrific) town to explore. Everyone’s got something to share, and I’m all ears.
Do you have any previous experience with writing lore or creative writing as a general aspect?: Yup! As I’ve previously stated, roleplaying has been my main hobby for the past decade. Minecraft roleplay is what I started with and still remains as my favorite medium to work with, the visuals combined with the general fast paced style of writing is what I thrive in. My experience with writing lore also goes far back, ranging from documents upon documents of OC lore to explanations and topics for entire individual roleplays. I’ve dabbled in pretty much anything and I’m willing to shoot my shot at whatever’s thrown at me! I’m flexible and willing to adapt ideas from others into my own, something I’ve shown time and time again with my lengthy involvement of lore writing teams. I’m not just an individual when it comes to my writing, I think of it more as a collaborative creative afford than anything else.
In your own words, give your definition of lore: Lore’s the obvious spine to any piece of writing, whether that be a roleplay or an example of personal work. It holds the soul of a story, setting up conflicts and character arcs without needing to outright instruct people on what to do— it’s the context to every tale, and without it, writing falls flat. It’s a powerful worldbuilding tool and not one that should be negated, for doing so will leave you with a story as weak as a soggy potato chip.
WRITING PROMPTS:
RULES
- You are expected to write in the third person, and narrate in a reliable and neutral tone. Do not focus your prompts specifically on one character’s perspective, but on a bigger picture.
- There is a 300-1000 word limit that applies to both prompts. Because of flow, if you need to go a little over or under, you are permitted to, but as soon as a prompt is 100 words outside the limit, you will be automatically denied.
- The effort and quality of both prompts will be taken into consideration when we accept applications.
#1
Summarize a character conflict, roleplay conflict, or event that you experienced (server-wide, personal, etcetera- there is no bar for how ‘interesting’ or ‘impactful’ it is). Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Word count: 579
"Do you believe in karma, Kenta? ‘Cuz I do." The young boy started off with nothing but a small squeak. The anger and venom that dripped from his words didn’t match his thin voice, just another indicative clue that Ambroise didn’t belong in a town like Karakura. He was this short and lean little thing with a wicked look hidden behind his overgrown bangs, seething with repulsing rage that was nothing short of horrific. His head hung in feigned shame, the back of his neck rubbed raw for all to see. The reasoning for this meeting, at the brink of a worn-down pier on a gloomy summer night was unspoken between the boy and the man. The way the kid rubbed at his throat and darted his gaze like an injured fawn was telling enough. They both knew why they were here, it was an overdue serving of spiteful vengeance. He opened his mouth to speak once more, his hand rattling against the fabric of his shorts.
"I believe... That, in the end.. Everything evens out. It just needs a keen eye to show it the truth."
Up until now, Ambroise's looks to Kenta had been few and far between. Cool grey eyes began to bore into the green of Kenta’s irises, the hue blending into the wretched eye bags that had displaced themselves on the young boy’s face. Despite all the ramping up, all the injustice and disservices this cruel town had thrust into Ambroise's overflowing hands, he had found one place to anchor. To stand, heave, and drop all the baggage he had unconsensually been forced to carry.
Ambroise liked to think it could've been anyone who might have sent him flying over the edge, doing what he was to do next, but he knew. He knew that in some sick, twisted fashion, it was always meant to be Kenta Dai who would suffer most from his inevitable break. Ambroise and Kenta, forever entwined for some appalling reason that neither of them could comprehend.
Ambroise was fast with what he did next, but he was not generous. His trembling hand ducked into his endless pockets, untucking a stout metal key— a gift from a friend of the past. The movement that followed was rigid and messy, not a clean stab or a sharp slice. Ambroise wanted it to hurt, he wanted the pain to sear through Kenta's entire body before his brain had even begun to comprehend what had happened.
The unassuming key Ambroise had plunged into Kenta's eye socket made sure to twist, and it made sure to turn. It made sure to leave its mark, as Kenta had done to Ambroise on this same damn pier all that time ago.
The removal of Kenta Dai's eye did not grant Ambroise’s desired satisfaction, but only the opposite. The tons that had been resting on his shoulders only seemed to stack higher, crushing the boy underneath their weight and sending boulders rolling directly towards him. Ambroise had instantly realized what he had just done, or maybe he had just known all along that this was the furthest thing from right. Maybe Ambroise was always aware of the downfall that was bound to follow his long awaited enacted revenge, and maybe he was just waiting for life to serve him another sucker punch he’d be able to fester and decay with— the boy had been expecting the signature on his premature eulogy to be handwritten in sage crayon.
#2
Create a folklore tale based on an existing area in Karakura of your choosing; tell us a story! Show us how creative you can get. Be sure to follow the above guidelines.
Words: 1098.. Heh
Sluuurp. Cheap slushies worth a flat hundred yen rolled down the throats of greasy teens like the heavy bowling balls they tossed down the lanes. Friday nights in Karakura meant one thing— the alley was packed. And, no, not with the usual crime you’d expect from such a nefarious town… Tonight, the passageway in question was the neon lit bowling lane that housed a wide array of the town’s given youngsters.
Amongst our crowd of social rejects and jocks alike, a boy with a grin too confident for his demeanor— stained white shirt included— sat in a padded booth, awaiting his turn on the pine lanes with an impatient tap in his foot. He had a reputation in the town for being a total drag to play with. The boy had skills, that was for sure, but the way he carried himself in relation to those skills? It made it seem as if the young man thought of himself as the Sayuri Yoshinaga of bowling. Needless to say, he was miserable to play a round with, the rest of his peers curving him like he had a big plastered sign on his forehead screaming, ‘AVOID AT ALL COSTS!’.
Well, it looks like not everyone got the memo to steer clear. Tonight his opponent was a foreign exchange student, one of the dozens to make the move from France to Karakura for some ungodly reason. She hardly spoke a lick of Japanese, though that didn’t matter to our insufferable kegler. He hadn’t the want for any type of conversation, just absolute bowling annihilation. His milquetoast challenger finished her turn with a measly two pins still standing, drifting back to her seat. The sight made him scoff as he flexed his knuckles and stood, stalking forward to await his soon to arrive bowling ball, fully intending on giving it its usual good luck kiss.
The young man tapped his foot with a sigh as he waited, ignoring his mother’s words as he rested his hand on the top of the machine. He swore he could hear her scolding even when she wasn’t there, ‘Keep your gosh darn hand away from that machine,’ she had warned while wafting a lit cigarette, ‘Ain’t any way I’ll be takin’ you to the hospital when you lose it, you best be sure of that!’
Enough of that. His mother’s rambles were largely unimportant, not when there was an opponent who needed to be demolished. Any day now, he thought, drumming his fingers… God! This thing was taking forever! It’s like he’d age fifty years just waiting for his ball to return. He rolled his eyes with unbearable annoyance, trying to drown out the idiotic screeches of the crowds around him. They’d just throw him off his game, if he wasn’t focused.
Seconds grew to minutes, and eventually he found himself gawking at the appliance as if it had personally offended him! He brought his hand back and thawked it on the head of the machine, stiffening like a board when he got a response.. But not the one he wanted. Instead of the monogrammed ball rolling back to its owner, a young voice peeped out of the machine, as if it were housed within.
“Yeeee—oouuuch! What was thaaat for?”
What the—?! Was this thing talking to him? He sputtered out a shocked gasp, looking around to see if anyone else had heard that… Huh, just him?
“Huge jeeerkwad! You could’a really hurt me there, you knooow…” The young girl, seemingly trapped in the machine, drew out her words with a grating squeak. Before our bowler had a chance to regain his words, she continued.
“Slip me a fry,” a plea, “c’mooon, slip me a fry and— and I’ll give you your ball back! I prooomise!” What a grating voice, screeching along like nails on a chalkboard. But, at the same time, the impatient man almost felt compelled by her. The concern that should’ve occupied his mind at the prospect of a girl being trapped in the bowling ball machine was nowhere to be found. Instead, all he could focus on was her proposal. Was that… really all she wanted? Just one fry, in return for his ball? It was laughable, he had two orders of those sitting on the table and another on the way.. He could surely spare one, if it meant he didn’t want to wait another miserable second waiting for his prized possession. So, in compliance, he turned and stumbled back to table, scratching at the scruff sitting on his jawline as he plucked a fry from the tray and tried to ignore the strange look his foreign opponent gave him.
He brought his hand back over with minute caution, awkwardly hovering the fry over the gate of the machine as he waited for the girl to pluck it from his sweaty hand. Dirty hazel eyes tracked the room around him, afraid that one of his less dorkier peers, or perhaps his opponent, would call him out for such a silly action. But, luckily enough for him, the gods of social rejection seemed to be smiling upon him tonight.
“Are you gonna take it, or what?” His words hissed out under his breath, begging not to draw any attention to himself whilst still getting this over with.
In response, he was met with nothing but silence from the shrill voice. The only whine that came from the vicinity leaked from the machine’s actual parts, the clicking of poorly oiled mechanics drowned out by the nearby celebration of a spare. He waved the fry in front of the gaping whole, holding it as bait— blissfully unaware of the appliance’s failing ball stopper. Instead of the slow drooling roll the urethane should’ve had while retracting into their former home, the balls slammed back into the void as if they had become the object of a tornado’s cruel fascination. They completely tore through whatever obstacle might’ve been in their way, unforgivingly claiming whatever hindrance unfortunately found itself in the crossfire. The damage looked like it could’ve been done with a sawed-off shotgun, not a bowling ball.
A piercing giggling seeped through the man’s mind as he started screeching like an injured hyena, holding up and waving his fistless arm for all those around him to see. A parting word was given in the form of a snicker and a whisper as a crowd began to form around the star bowler, who was soon to lose that title just as he had lost his lucky right hand.
“Heh! Thanks for the food, mister! So generous!..”
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